I'm at a small fair when I recognize a tennis star, one of the world's best, standing in a charity booth under a sign, "KISSES ONE DOLLAR" She's blonde, mid-height, cheerful, quite beautiful. She's called Sunny, a nickname based on her attitude. She certainly beams at me.

Sunny's wearing a loose jersey or half-shirt, so open in front it shows her breast from the side--her nipple's peeking out sexily. Hard to tell, with the waist-high counter, but...is she naked under that jersey? I'm excited and attracted by her body, but by her serene aura too--not one hint of trouble or shame or self-destruction, like most people! She does what she does well, and she's happy.

I'm such a mess compared to her! Feel too shy to face her, so I run back through the house--my parents' house?--to "my" bedroom, lock the door, and pull blanket over my head.

Maybe I'll masturbate and think of her.

Then I realize--the door's just a sheet of brown cardboard! Anyone can step right through it. My privacy's an illusion.

I hear her walking up and say cheerfully, just outside, speaking as if my flimsy barrier is already down:

"Lots of men do this--hide behind brown cardboard, when they don't have to."

And then, as Sunny walks through, whether to join me in bed or to drag me out... I wake.